IPS 4 snippet:
It was then that Tamlin appeared on your doorstep. “…My lord.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. It was overcast and drizzling, but there was enough natural light that you didn’t need faelight. You blinked up at Tamlin, at his regal and pinched but otherwise guarded expression, and wondered briefly if he, too, was a figment of your imagination...but no, you decided he wasn’t. The only people who’d haunted you so far had been your family. “Why did you answer the door?” Tamlin asked. His question both surprised and confused you. “What do you mean, my lord?” The right side of Tamlin’s mouth pulled up, and he glanced around, his ears twitching, listening. And then dubious amusement softened his features. “Where is your staff, (Y/n)?” For the first time in a week, you felt something other than anger and depression: embarrassment. You held your hands so you wouldn’t fidget. “My lord—” “Just Tamlin is fine.”
